Wind burst into the opening. Flame climbed into oak brush. Leaves flashed. The man stepped back.
“Hit it with dirt,” Christy shouted. “Winds are shifting!”
The big man let the shovel head slip to the ground. He settled into his lean and watched.
“Hit it!”
Burning leaves tumbled along the ground, through black, into green. Grass burst into flame. Sagebrush ignited. Flame and heat marched at the scratch line.
“Hit it! Put it out!”
Jack bolted.
The man stood watching.
Fire rolled over the scratch line, igniting woody-stemmed plants at the base of the rock.
Manion dropped her torch and dashed past the spectating firefighter. Shielding her face, she danced on the flames, grinding her boots into burning undergrowth.
Flame lapped up the wall, stepping from plant to plant, each bursting into flame.
She grasped at dirt with her hands, flinging it up the wall, slowing the fire—but it was too late. She dropped her head.
Stunned, Jack watched.
Christy slowly pointed. “Get a line around it,” she muttered.
The man stooped over and gave the ground a scrape. A token scrape.
“Line it,” Christy demanded.
“It’s done. Besides, there’s nothing left.”
“Do it anyway,” Christy said, sounding near tears. She dug in her boots, kicking dirt at the remains of the plants. Smoke wafted from scorched stems. “How could you let that happen? Why didn’t you stop it?”
The man settled back into his lean. “Would’ve been hard.”
Jack’s bile rose in his throat as he stepped up behind the light haired man.
“You could if you tried . . . but you didn’t,” she said, continuing to kick at the dirt. “They’re . . .” She raised her head. “Get over here. I’m bustin’ my butt.”
The man cocked his head. “I’d say keep it up sweet cheeks. It’s not hurting you any.”
Christy slowly stood up right and glared, then noticed Jack. She shook her head.
Johnny Reger stepped out from the shadows, following the line. He stopped. His jaw dropped. “What? What happened?” His eyes darted from scratch line, to smoldering plants, to rock outcropping, to Christy, to the other firefighter. “What did you do?”
“Nothing?” Christy said. “He did nothing.”
The man smirked. “Don’t expect miracles.”
Johnny turned to Jack, mouth slowly moving, no words coming out.
“You can’t work,” Christy shouted. “You’re a lazy ass.”
“And this is the . . . only . . .” Johnny said, barely managing the words.
“The only known population,” Jack said. “Might be fire adapted, but we don’t know for sure. The botanist who described the species thought it might be found elsewhere, but so far . . .” He let his words trail off.
“This plant was . . . ,” Johnny said, sounding in shock. “What do we do now?”
“Not sure. This is bad,” Jack muttered. “We’ll need to do a review of some kind, but I’m not sure we can think about that today.”
“It’s this guy that ought to be in trouble,” Christy said, pointing at the big man.
“Your problem, not mine,” he said. His smirk grew into a smile.
Johnny cocked an eyebrow. “A little smug, aren’t you?”
“Your fire, not mine.”
Johnny’s eyes moved between the fire and the crewman. “I don’t have time for this shit. I need everyone here. If I didn’t, I’d put your ass on the first train home.”
The man threw back his head and laughed.
“Forget that. You’re out of here,” Johnny said.
The man sobered up and stared back. “I don’t think so.” He turned. “Hey, boss man,” he said, in Jack’s direction.
Jack turned toward him. “You talking to me?”
“Yes, boss man, you need to get involved with this.”
Something about the man’s green eyes. “Do I know you?”
“No, but I know you.”
“How?”
“Stories.” His smile grew. “My brother’s stories. Remember the name Foss?”
“I know a Foss,” Jack said, not at all pleased.
“I’m sure you do. Mover and shaker. Superintendent of a park so close to Washington, he drops in on the Director just to say hello. I’m his brother, Carl.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Christy groaned. “Doesn’t explain your lazy ass.”
Foss kept his eyes on Jack. “Clint Foss’ brother. Makes you think, doesn’t it?”
Christy’s mouth gaped open, incredulous.
“I’d get these two under control,” Foss said. “You don’t need more trouble. You know, trouble? Like in Montana?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jack turned away. “It’s Johnny’s fire. Take it up with him.”
“What should I do, boss?” Johnny asked.
“Johnny, you said he’s out of here. He’s caused enough trouble. You don’t need his disruption.”
Foss turned to Johnny. “He’s hanging you out to dry. Letting you get your ass in trouble, saving his.”
Jack spun around and stepped forward. “Johnny, strike that. I’m pulling rank.” He turned to Foss, and pointed toward the trucks. “Get the hell out of here. Get your stuff. Go!”
Christy pointed in the direction of the vehicles.
Johnny managed a smile.
The man stood his ground. “You’re not exactly overstaffed. Don’t be stupid.”
“Go,” Jack shouted. He took a quick step toward the man.
Foss recoiled. He threw down his shovel, and kicked the ground.
“Go!”
Foss stomped off.
“When you get back to your park,” Jack shouted after him, “tell your boss to expect a call. To talk about your reputation. What’s left of it. Count on your name coming up in a review of what happened today.”
“Jerk,” Christy muttered. “We don’t need him.”
“Actually, we do,” Johnny said. He turned to Jack “Love it when you pull rank. Way to kick some ass by the way. What’s that about another Foss?”
Jack sighed.
“Someone mentions Montana, you stop talking.” Johnny spun around to the smoking remains. “Makes me sick but I can’t think about this now. Got wind to worry about. I need an updated weather forecast. Tell me later what I’m in for on this review.”
He reached for his mike. The radio popped first. “Johnny, one of the crew just walked off the job. He’s in a truck, hauling ass out of here.”
“We released him.”